Inanis
by MSSmysterygirl
Summary: Anna is a bright college student with a 4.0 and a secret. Miss Elsa Arendelle is a young, driven professor with a piece of her heart missing and a promise to fulfill. (TW: eating disorder, non-graphic) Elsanna unrelated, modern AU, rated M for themes and the very last chapter. *Epilogue up!*
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Welcome back. This is a story whose subject matter is near and dear to my heart. As always, you're entitled to your opinions but, if you can, be gentle with your criticisms 3

 **A TW FOR THE WHOLE STORY** If you are an ED soldier, there are three points I want to make: 1) This is a recovery-oriented story, 2) it shouldn't be too triggering (it's not graphic) and 3) recovery is possible. I would know. xoxo

* * *

In August, when the soon-to-be Juniors are _finally_ able to register online for classes, I make what will turn out to be the best or the worst decision of my young life, depending on how you look at it: I sign up for a full-year course of anthropology. It's a three-hundred-level class, which means that the first trimester is level three-oh-one, second trimester is three-oh-two and third trimester is, naturally, three-oh-three. The first two sections are physical anthro and the third is cultural anthro, a sub-type that I haven't experienced yet.

The teacher, according to the info page, is _Arendelle, E._ I quickly look her up on Rate A Prof and find that she has barely any reviews. She must be a young professor, but the few reviews she _does_ have are good. Things like _tough but fair_ and _A stickler for attendance._ I can live with those things. I don't miss classes often and I do put good effort into my work, so I'm hopeful that we'll get along just fine.

I have no idea what I'm in for.

* * *

In September, when classes begin and the place is full of people milling all around, trying to find their way around the sprawling, urban campus and I'm finally full of sunshine and rest and ready to tackle another sixteen-credit term, I see her. _Arendelle, E_ turns out to be Elsa Arendelle, Ph.D. She is either very young to hold that title or just ages extremely well.

I am done for as soon as she walks into the lecture hall.

Her hair, pulled into some kind of messy-but-chic French braid, is the thickest, most pale blonde mane I've ever seen in my life. Her frame is slender but with curves that make my heart stutter crazily in my chest. Her blue eyes are huge in her face, giving her the appearance of a doe or some kind of nymph. When she walks, her hips sway in this hypnotizing way.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and glance around. I'm immensely relieved to see that I'm not the only student staring, awestruck, at our professor.

Elsa Arendelle, Ph.D reaches the front of the room, sets her bag down on the desk and turns to face us. She smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Good morning," she says, her voice soft and musical. "My name is Miss Arendelle and I'll be your professor this term. Some of you may be enrolled in all three sections of this class. If that's the case, then we'll be seeing a lot of each other between now and June."

My heart picks up its pace. _Please,_ I beg whatever being is listening, _please let me see more of_ face flushes as that errant thought makes itself known.

"I will be requiring all students to meet with me one-on-one at least twice per term. This is to ensure your success in my class, as I am extremely firm on grading and I don't make exceptions." Miss Arendelle paces back and forth in front of her desk. "Even if you're doing fine in the class and your grades are high, I'll still ask you to meet with me just to go over any questions you may have or concerns that may arise." She stops pacing and her eyes sweep the room. "Your success in this class, and indeed in all of your educational pursuits, is of utmost importance to me. So please don't hesitate to reach out, all right?"

The class murmurs and nods.

"Great." Miss Arendelle turns around and my breath is stolen by the way her perfect backside looks in her black slacks. Her heels clack against the floor as she approaches the desk on which her things rest. "Let's begin. I am going to pass out the syllabus and we'll go over it quickly."

It is only with great effort that I manage to pay any attention at all for the rest of that class.

* * *

In October, when the leaves turn reddish orange and fall to the ground, I meet with Miss Arendelle one-on-one for the first time. Halloween is in two weeks and it appears Miss Arendelle has taken a lesson from Miss Frizzle in _The Magic Schoolbus_ because, while her attire is the same as it always has been, her jewelry reflects the upcoming holiday. Today she has little skeletons dangling from her earlobes.

"Hi, come on in," she greets me as I knock hesitantly on the doorjamb to her office. It's almost three in the afternoon and I've just finished classes for the day. "Anna, right?" She glances at her desk calendar where I can see, from here, her perfect, loopy handwriting spelling out my name at this time slot.

"Yeah," I manage not to stutter and I'm frankly amazed. My heart is thundering against my ribs and my armpits are sweating.

"Please, come in and sit down," Miss Arendelle gestures to one of the two chairs facing her desk. A desk that is immaculately organized, just as the rest of her office is. Every item is evenly spaced from the next, nothing out of place, nothing haphazard. She is deliberate, if nothing else. "How are you finding the course thus far?"

I lower myself carefully into the seat, sitting on the edge, clasping my sweaty hands in my lap. "I'm actually really enjoying it," I say, and it's the truth. Once I got over the initial shock of Miss Arendelle's appearance, my brain cleared a little and I was able to somewhat focus on the material. "You're a very good professor. I find your lectures easy to follow, although not boring."

She smiles and my heart feels like it swells two sizes. "I'm so glad to hear that. I do aim to make things easy to understand while still challenging the mind to connect to the material. I am, of coursed, biased on the topic. I find anthropology to be incredibly fascinating." She chuckles. "Hence my profession."

Relaxing a bit, I smile at her. "I agree. I'm looking forward to the third section of this course. I've never taken any cultural anthropology before."

"I think you'll like it, from what you've just said." She leans back in her swivel chair, threading her fingers together and raising her arms, placing her hands behind her head. My eyes want to bug out because that motion causes her fantastic chest to push outward and the buttons on her royal blue blouse strain to remain closed. "It's different than physical anthropology but still quite interesting in a totally different kind of way."

I can't come up with anything to say because my tongue is imagining running over the flesh that is pushing against the buttons of Miss Arendelle's shirt. If she notices the flush on my face, she doesn't say anything. Her face remains neutral and she stays in that position for several seconds more before seeming to think of something and spinning around in her chair, rolling to the other side of the office. She retrieves a folder from a shelf and opens it, pulling out a piece of paper.

"Here is the reading list for the next two sections of the course. I looked at your progress before you came in just now and your work is impressive. This is a three-hundred level course which is not easy, but I am impressed by your efforts so far. If you'd like to look over any of this material early, I'd be happy to discuss it with you before next term." She hands me the paper and I have to quickly lay it in my lap because my hands are shaking. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I just thought I'd give you the option since you seem to be a dedicated student."

I bark out a laugh. "School is my life." My lips twist mirthlessly as that sentence escapes me, but I rein it in quickly. _That_ isn't something I want to discuss with anyone, let alone Miss Arendelle.

Her eyes are soft. "I know what you mean," she says, and I have no doubt that she does.

* * *

In November, when the snow starts to fall on campus and everyone is giddy with the first snowfall excitement, I approach Miss Arendelle after class one day.

She's standing at the front of the room, talking to another student. I'm too far away to hear what they're saying but Miss Arendelle doesn't look happy. Her face is relatively neutral but her body language gives her away. Her arms folded tightly across that glorious chest of hers — and my breathing speeds up at the memory of her raising her arms overhead in her office that day and how the buttons on her shirt barely held on for dear life and how I _wish_ they hadn't — and her body slightly turned away from the student she's talking to. She shakes her head at something and replies through pursed lips, letting me and anyone else watching know that she is definitely displeased. The student walks away and Miss Arendelle turns her back and begins packing things into her bag.

"Excuse me, Miss Arendelle?" I stop about five feet from her, the irritation oozing off of her is palpable and I don't want to get my head bitten off.

She stills, hands clutching a stack of papers, and turns slowly. "What can I do for you?" She asks evenly, and I know she's relieved it's just me but for whatever reason her guard is still up — _way_ up.

"I finished the recommended reading for three-oh-two," I say, edging slightly closer.

"You _what?_ " she exclaims, her neatly shaped eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline. "You read all six of those books already? Anna, it's only been just over a month." There's skepticism in her voice and I'm thinking she doesn't believe me.

"Yes," I answer simply. "I read all six. I found them all enjoyable except the last one. I didn't agree with many of the author's points, but I do think he presented them well nonetheless."

A wry smile. "Funny you'd say that," she smirks. "That's exactly why I had it on that list. Did you notice his points almost directly contradicted everything in the previous five books on the list?"

I nod. "I did. I was going to ask you about that. It mystified me at first, but now I think I understand. It was for critical thinking purposes, was it not?"

"It was." She sounds pleased. "Not much gets past you, does it?"

"Oh, sure," I wave my hand. "Plenty gets past me. But I enjoy reading and I enjoy this subject—" _and I enjoy the professor,_ I almost said but managed to catch it just in time, "—so this was actually a really pleasant way to pass some time." I shrug. "I'm kind of a bookworm, I guess."

"Nothing wrong with that," Miss Arendelle's face is unreadable but her body language is clear as day: she wants to keep talking to me. Her arms are at her sides and her body is directly facing me, her feet are side-by-side, indicating that she doesn't feel the need to prepare herself to retreat quickly. Her face is warm and her eyes are gentle yet searching.

 _She's trying to figure me out,_ I realize with a start, and fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest. While I _am_ infatuated with Miss Arendelle, I don't think I'm quite ready to let her in. I almost never let _anyone_ in. The last person I let in was Kristoff and, well, that didn't end so well for either of us.

The conversation stalls momentarily and Miss Arendelle turns to finish packing up her things. Facing me once again, she says, "what class do you have next?"

I shake my head. "No class until one o'clock." I usually while away my time in a coffee shop or in the library but I don't think Miss Arendelle cares about that.

"I have office hours starting at one-fifteen," she says, shouldering her bag. "This is when I usually have lunch. Would you like to join me? We could discuss the reading." Her demeanor is calm but her eyes have a nervousness in them that makes my heart jump.

 _Is it wrong for a student to have lunch with a teacher?_ I want to ask, but I keep it in. Why would it be wrong? We're just discussing reading, but still I hesitate. Miss Arendelle would notice my _other problem_ , the one I keep as hidden as possible from _everyone_ , for sure if we had lunch together. My hands start to sweat, clammy and cold, and my heart rate kicks up significantly. I'm so torn, but I _really_ want to spend time with her. So, summoning every ounce of courage I can find in my body, I agree. "Sure. I'd love to."

In the end, it turns out fine. Miss Arendelle seems to accept the excuse I give her and says nothing about the fact that I consume only half an Odwalla smoothie for lunch. I know I'll pay for this later but, as it turns out, being distracted by the goddess that is Miss Arendelle is what makes any of it bearable. The stimulating conversation only adds to the success.


	2. Chapter 2

In December, when the trimester is just about over, Miss Arendelle unleashes her worst on us: Finals. The word every student comes to dread three times per year (four if you take summer classes.)

I'm not the first to hand in my test but I'm not last either. The room is silent save for the scratching sounds of pen on paper and the occasional sniffle or cough when I approach the desk where Miss Arendelle sits, quietly reading a copy of AnthroNow magazine. She looks up when I approach and the smile that splits her face is absolutely genuine.

"Can you come to office hours any time this week?" She whispers to me as I set my exam, face down, on the desk in front of her.

I nod and she nods in response, cocking her head to the side just a bit. I can't help but smile back at her, despite the fact that my ears are ringing and my vision is starting to fade. I'm not sure if this is because she's _asking_ me to come to office hours or if it's for _other_ reasons, but all I know is that I am literally about to pass out and I _don't_ want to do that in front of _her._ Trying to freeze the pleasant smile on my face, I give a quick wave and dash for the door.

I don't see the concerned and confused look on her face as I flee. The door clunks closed behind me and I slide down the wall, head between my knees, begging the darkness to back off, to leave me alone. I just need some water. I just need to rest. Finals always kick my butt and this is no exception. Fair and thorough though Miss Arendelle is, her final exam was the hardest one all term. I shudder to think of how much the students who goof off in her class are struggling right now.

Shakily, I make my way to my feet and, using the wall for support, make my way outside. The fresh air seems to help.

I'm feeling better by the time I'm facing the door to Miss Arendelle's office at ten minutes past two in the afternoon. I know her office hours are from one-fifteen to three-fifteen, so I know she'll be there. What I _didn't_ expect was to hear angry voices coming from within. I can't make out what they're saying through the heavy wooden door, but I can hear that one of the voices belongs to Miss Arendelle and the other is a male voice. They're having some kind of back-and-forth and clearly Miss Arendelle is not happy.

Finally, I hear a thunking sound as if someone has dropped something heavy onto a desk and then the door wrenches open in my face. That same student who was talking to her in the classroom that day, a pompous-looking guy with hideous sideburns, comes barreling out and almost knocks me down. He glares at me before marching away.

"Come on in, Anna," she sighs, sounding tired and wary.

I enter the office and see her sitting at her desk, her elbows propped up and fingers rubbing her temples. I sit in the same chair I occupied the first time I came to her office. "Everything okay?"

She nods but I don't believe her. Dismissively, she mumbles, "I can't please everyone, I guess." Not knowing how to respond to that, I remain quiet. She continues to rub her temples for several seconds more before finally opening those lovely eyes of hers and staring me down across the desk. "How did you feel about the exam today?"

"I'm really glad you didn't make the whole thing multiple choice."

This seems to surprise her. "Really? Most students prefer multiple choice. Usually because it prevents them from having to dig up the connections themselves; the answer is just right there and all they have to do is recognize which one it is."

I shrug and lean back in my chair, stretching my arms up overhead and using the backrest to pop my back. "Yeah," I respond. "That's true, but the multiple choice section you _did_ include in the exam was tough enough and there were only fifteen questions in it. Fortunately for me, I am a careful reader and picked up on nuances in the sentences that entirely changed the question from the way I read it the first time. If I were to lose focus for any reason—" _Such as you being entirely too sexy for your own good_ "—I would have gotten several answers wrong in that section."

Miss Arendelle's lips pull up into a bemused smile. "And are you so sure that you didn't miss any in that section as it is?"

I match her expression. "Fairly sure, yeah."

A startled twitch of her eyebrow is the only response I get, and then she swivels in her chair and pulls out a thick folder from her back. "Let's test that theory, shall we?" She flips through the large stack of stapled exams and finally pulls one out. She flips to the second page and her lower lip gets snagged between her teeth as her eyes move down the page. My traitorous brain goes crazy seeing that and I find myself wishing I could see her make that face again under _very_ different circumstances.

After several seconds, her shocking blue eyes float back up to meet my teal ones. I know I have interesting colored eyes and it appears Miss Arendelle is noticing that, too. "You're right," she says, a hint of — is that _awe —_ evident in her voice. "You got that whole section correct."

I know I'm smart but I'm not used to praise and certainly not used to _awe_ so I feel my cheeks heating up and my gaze hits the floor. The cocky, self-assured Anna from a moment ago is gone and, to my chagrin, replaced by a shy, blushing school girl, sitting pretty under her teacher's praise.

For the next few minutes, Miss Arendelle flips through my final exam, scanning each answer in the short answer section and her eyes flicking back and forth over the matching section. Finally she puts the exam back in the folder and, still saying nothing, replaces the folder in her bag. When she turns back around, her eyes are gentle and questioning as she looks at me. My blush has, fortunately, faded and I regard her back with a similar gaze. Her body language is open and inviting, her forearms resting on her desk and her diaphragm pressed against the edge of the wood, head tilted slight to the right.

"Anna," she begins, thoughtfully. "Do you ever find any classes difficult?"

"Difficult?" I parrot. "No. Sometimes exams are difficult. Yours was, for example, but generally speaking the most difficult part of classes for me is paying attention sometimes. I usually… well, let me just say that I usually don't find much challenge with class material. The exception to that is language."

"Language? How do you mean?"

"I've taken three different language classes in college thus far: Russian, Spanish and German. I only took one term of the last one but I've taken all of first-year in the first two. I took Spanish in high school too, so I had kind of a head start. Russian was challenging, a little bit, in the grammar aspect. There are six cases so it was hard to figure out how and when to use each one."

My professor is looking at me with a gaze that is an interesting mix of surprise and amusement. She says nothing, though, so I continue. "And as if _that_ wasn't hard enough, their whole way of formulating sentences is different!" My hands flap around in mock aggravation. "The tonal aspects of the language are completely different than any Romance languages like English and Spanish. Germanic languages are different, too, but not like Russian is. You know how your voice will turn up at the end of a question, like 'this?'" I make my voice tip upward as though I'm actually asking. When Miss Arendelle nods, I go on to say, "well not in Russian. You put the inflection somewhere in the middle and the end of the sentence turns _down,_ like a statement."

She laughs. "That does sound confusing!"

"It really is!" I laugh too.

"Say something in Russian for me."

I'm taken aback by the request. Not because of the request itself but because of how shy she sounds when she asks it of me. The thought of saying something risqué pops into my mind but what if she actually understands any of the words? Besides, I'm not very good at lying so when she asks me what I said, which she undoubtedly will, I'd have to lie and risk giving myself away. Without a better idea, I say, "Меня зовут Анна и мне двадцать-один год."

Predictably, Miss Arendelle — "What'd you say?"

"I said 'my name is Anna and I'm twenty-one years old.'"

"So 'menya zavoot' is 'my name is'?"

I'm surprised she picked up on that so fast, but then again maybe I shouldn't be. Miss Arendelle is, obviously, very smart. "Yeah, it actually translates to something like, 'they call me', but yeah, same idea."

She thinks a moment and then says, "so I would say, 'menya zavoot Elsa,' then?"

"Exactly. Your accent's pretty good."

"I'm a good mimic," she says humbly and a small flush colors her cheeks. I think she's beautiful. "So then the rest of it was, 'and I'm twenty-one years old'?"

"Yeah, 'mnye dvadtsat-adin god' means literally, 'I have twenty-one years.'"

"How do you say twenty-six?"

"'Dvadtsat-shest,'" I answer. "But then you'd have to change 'god' to 'lyet'." I shrug. "Grammar. Like I said, it's a pain."

"'Menya zavoot Elsa,'" Miss Arendelle — _Elsa —_ stumbles adorably over the unfamiliar words, "mnye dvadtsat-shest lyet.'" Her eyes glance up to me, curiously, as if to ask _did I do that right?_ She reminds me of an adorable little kid learning to speak.

"Yes!" I exclaim. "That was great!" And now I know that she's twenty-six. How on earth did she get a Ph.D at twenty-six? Did she do nothing but study for years on end? I want to ask her about it but she glances at the clock.

"Thank you for coming by, Anna. I didn't really have a reason to ask you other than, well—" She pauses and looks a little sheepish. "—Other than the fact that I find you interesting and I enjoy having conversation with you."

"I enjoy it too," I say, quickly. "Having conversation with you, I mean." I'm not usually one to ramble, at least not anymore, but I can feel myself starting to lose control of my cool. "I'm happy you asked me to stop by. At the very least I got to teach you some Russian."

"This is true," she chuckles. "I imagine there's a great deal you could teach me. Just because I am the professor does not mean I can learn nothing from my students."

I gather up my things and head for the door.

"Oh, and Anna," she adds as I'm about to depart. "You passed the final. I don't know your exact grade but I know from looking at it that you passed with flying colors."

My cheeks flush, I mumble a thanks and dart from the office.

* * *

In January, when classes start up again for winter term, I'm more than ready for the rigorous schedule that comes along with school. Even more than that, I'm ready to see Miss Arendelle again after three and a half long weeks.

The second section of the year-long course is smaller in terms of class size, so we no longer have to meet in the giant lecture hall with auditorium seating. This is both a blessing and a curse for me because the auditorium seating was far superior comfort-wise, but it's nice because now Miss Arendelle can walk between our individual desks and I can surreptitiously check out her butt.

Just like in September, Miss Arendelle passes out the syllabi and I'm not sure if my eyes are deceiving me when she lingers a half second longer at my desk than anyone else's. It's easier for me to pay attention this time around because I'm not as shocked by Miss Arendelle's appearance as I was last time. Then again, I'm pretty familiar with her teaching methods and I've already done the recommended reading so I know what's in store for me this term. Therefore, I find my mind wandering as we review the syllabus.

Miss Elsa Arendelle is only twenty-six, unless her birthday happened to be in the time between fall and winter terms, but what are the odds of _that_? Roughly twenty-five out of three-hundred sixty-five or five out of seventy-three. Unlikely. And she's got a Ph.D. So if she graduated college at eighteen as is common, then that means she completed — what, twelve years worth of college in eight? And that's only if she got her job as a professor straight out of college! How in the world did she manage _that?_ Maybe she really _did_ know what I meant when I said school was my life.

Our gorgeous professor leans against the table at the front of the room. "Those of you who were in the first section of this course last term, which is most of you, will recall that I ask to meet with each of you one-on-one twice this term. You can sign up on this sheet up here on the table if you already know what your schedules look like for the term or you can email me and we'll schedule it. My email address, office phone number and office hours are listed on the bottom of the first page of the syllabus."

By the time class is over, I'm more than ready for a cup of coffee. I have a really early class this term so by the time ANTH302 is over at ten-thirty, I've already been awake for close to five hours.

"Anna!" I hear a voice call my name as I start to stand up from my desk. It's Miss Arendelle and she's smiling at me from the front of the room. She beckons me up with one finger and I can't help but imagine her doing that in a totally _different_ kind of situation. I inwardly roll my eyes. Apparently an entire term of being in the same room with Miss Arendelle plus three weeks off hasn't done anything to assuage _that_ part of my brain.

"Welcome back," she says lightly as I arrive at the front of the room. "I was glad to see your name on the roster for this term."

"You know I'm taking the whole year, right?"

"Yes, but sometimes things happen. Schedules change." She shrugs. "I'm glad you're back. Does the projected course material in the syllabus look okay to you?"

I glance down at the pile of extra syllabi lying on the table beside her left hand. "Yeah," I skim the page from where I stand. "I'm especially looking forward to week number six when we discuss that last book on your reading list. I'm interested to see how the other students interpret it. I feel like there could be some pushback."

Her eyes gleam. "That's what I'm hoping for! I like to spark critical thinking and really see people get passionate about things."

 _I could show you passion,_ I think to myself, and give myself a mental smack to the forehead. What a line.

I take a step back, my body reacting to my mind's sudden descent into the inappropriate and I see Miss Arendelle's eyes sweep quickly, albeit entire out of curiosity, down and up from my head to my toes and back. I'm hoping to see a spark, a gleam, a _glimmer_ of something in her eyes. I do, but it wasn't what I was hoping for.

Cerulean blue eyes widen almost imperceptibly, neat eyebrows quirk together in the middle, a noticeable inhalation of breath precedes a head tilt and a searching look. I shift uncomfortably. Miss Arendelle's eyes are boring right into mine, searching the depths of me, or at least as much as she can see reflected there. Her left hand flattens out against the table top and her right hand twitches at her side as though it wants to go somewhere but she won't let it. Her whole body goes just a little more rigid and she leans towards me so minutely that if I hadn't been paying close attention, I might've missed it.

"Anna," she begins, her voice laced with uncertainty or maybe worry. "Are you… is everything…."

Her sentence trails off abruptly as I feel myself shift. I know what's happening, what she's just noticed. I _don't_ want to talk about that. I _don't_ want her worry, her pity. I'm in control. I _am._ I'm so in control it's not even funny. I'm just a girl who knows how she likes to do things and I don't need anyone fussing over me or concerning themselves. Kristoff was the last person to try that and look how spectacularly _that_ ended up for both of us!

"I'm fine," I answer immediately and my voice is harsher than I intended. It's clearly harsher than Miss Arendelle expected, given that she blinks quickly and extends her back, putting an extra inch or two between us. Forcing my voice to soften, I repeat, "I'm fine. Just busy and… busy. Lots of credits this term."

I know that excuse doesn't hold because I've just come off three weeks of vacation, but she doesn't say anything.

"I'll look forward to meeting with you this term," Miss Arendelle finally says, a trace of warmth back in her voice. She's hoping to go back to the way things were a minute ago, before she really _saw_ me and there is nothing I want more.

"Yeah," I answer. "I'll email you."

"Sounds like a plan," she smiles.

Before she can say anything else, I'm scurrying out the door.


	3. Chapter 3

In February, when we're solidly into the curriculum in Miss Arendelle's class, things start falling apart. And not just falling apart quietly. Oh, no. Things start falling apart _spectacularly._

 _Can't this ever happen on a weekend?_ I lament to myself as I'm sitting in ANTH302 with the world spinning around me and my hands shaking violently. Even as I think those words I know I'm grasping. This _does_ happen on weekends. I'm just usually by myself and I don't have to hide it from anybody.

Stifling a groan, I fold my arms atop my desk and lay my head on them. I know Miss Arendelle will notice but it seems that my options are either this or faint dead away in the middle of class. The latter is _obviously_ not an option so, although this isn't ideal, this is what I'm left with.

"You can discuss amongst yourselves for a few minutes," Miss Arendelle is saying, following a rather heated discussion about origins of specific types of fossils. She wanted passion, she's certainly getting it with this part of the course.

I feel a hand on my elbow and snap my head upright. Miss Arendelle is before me and I struggle to focus my eyes on her. Her image is tilting first to the right, then to the left, then back to the right. There are two of her, then one, then two, then one.

"Are you all right?" She asks me, even though it's clearly a rhetorical question at this point. I'm sure my face is ghostly pale, my freckles standing out in sharp contrast. The dark circles under my eyes that I desperately tried to conceal with makeup this morning are, I'm sure, extremely noticeable.

"Y-yeah." I cringe at the stutter. My voice is faint. "Just really tired."

Her eyes fill with sadness which is confusing to me. Shouldn't she be annoyed? I look like I'm literally falling asleep in her class. I'm not actually anywhere near falling asleep but she doesn't know that… does she?

"If you need to leave…" She begins but I cut her off with a sharp, "No!"

Sitting up straight and taking a deep breath, albeit a shaky one, I pick up my pen. "No," I say, more pleasantly. "I'm fine."

Her gaze lingers on me several moments more before she turns and walks back up to the front. Exhaling, I attempt to skim over the notes I've made this hour. To my dismay, the note stopped at the point in the lecture where we were discussing _homo afarensis_ , which I know was about twenty minutes ago. Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. Now I'm going to have to scour the power points online to figure out what the rest of the lecture was about.

To make matters worse, this is the day I've scheduled to meet with Miss Arendelle in her office. I briefly consider skipping it but I know that this would only make things worse. I'm supposed to meet with her immediately following class, even though her office hours are officially from one to three in the afternoon and it'll only be ten-thirty by the time this class is over.

When the time is up, I'm slow to gather my things. I am just absolutely zapped. I have no energy. _Maybe if I just…_ I think to myself and dig into my purse for my pack of gum. I always have at least two or three packs on me at any given time. Popping two pieces of sugar-free cinnamon flavored gum in my mouth, I immediately feel the kick of spice start to clear my head.

"You're scheduled to meet with me now, correct?" Miss Arendelle approaches me as I'm shoving the pack of gum back into the pocket of my purse.

I nod, still reveling in the glorious taste of the gum.

"Let's walk then, shall we?"

In silence we make our way out of the room. As we reach the end of the hall, Miss Arendelle pauses. "Would you maybe like to go to a coffee shop? I normally get a coffee after this period. Trying to avoid hitting a wall before lunchtime."

I'm not sure if drinking coffee would make things better or worse at this point, but at least in a coffee shop Miss Arendelle might be less likely to mention how I was _behaving_ in class. "Sure," I concede. "I can always use a caffeine kick."

We don't say much as we make our way to one of the many coffee shops on campus. One of Miss Arendelle's eyebrows raises when I order a plain black coffee but she doesn't comment on it, pouring two sugar packets and a little splash of cream into hers at the condiment bar.

Finding an empty table near the back corner, we sit.

"So," she begins, her long, elegant fingers encircling her paper coffee cup. "How are you liking class this term?"

As if it's my lifeline, I take a giant sip of coffee. It's hot and burns my tongue but I don't care. "I like it," I respond as soon as I swallow. "But then again I knew I would. I enjoyed last term immensely, and I had already done the reading, so I knew it was going to be good."

She smiles. "Yes, that's true, you did do the reading. Well good, I'm glad you're enjoying it. How are you finding the work this term? Easier than last term? _Harder_ than last term?" Her voice changes quality just a little on the word 'harder' and I snap my eyes up to meet her.

Does she know? Does she know that I've had a harder time on the writing assignments? My focus just isn't what it's always been and I'm finding it somewhat hard to formulate my thoughts into sentences sometimes.

"Um," I mumble and take another desperate sip of coffee to buy myself some time. "Well, my class schedule is quite a bit more rigorous this term," I say lamely. "So I've been very tired and I don't have as much time to read as I used to."

She regards me carefully and I can see that she doesn't believe me. She says nothing and waits to see if I'll continue.

"I have a class at seven in the morning," I explain, tapping the rim of my paper cup. "So I get up _really_ early to get everything together for the day because I won't be home again until about four in the afternoon. So… yeah." I finish. "It's tough."

Miss Arendelle sips her coffee, seeming lost in thought for a moment. "Anna," she finally says, setting her coffee down on the table with a _clack._ "Can I ask you something?"

"Uh, sure," I mumble nervously.

"And can you promise you'll answer me honestly?"

Tilting my chin down, I regard her through stony eyes. "I can try."

She reaches her hands out momentarily as if she's going to cover mine with them but then seems to think better of it and pulls them back. "Can you—" She blinks hard once and tries again. "When was the last time you ate something?"

I can _literally_ feel the color drain out of my face. Or at least, what color there was in my face drains out. It feels as though my blood turns to ice in my veins. _This is it_ , my mind screams. _You're caught._ The sly part of my brain starts trying to come up with something. An excuse, a reason, a distraction, _anything._ Anything to get her off this topic. I almost wish a car accident would take place outside the window just to get myself off the hook. My hand start shaking around my coffee cup and I quickly place them out of sight in my lap.

My lovely professor rests her arms on the tabletop and leans forward. "You looked thin last term, Anna," she says, her voice low and so full of concern that it makes my heart ache. "But now…" she trails off and looks at me with big, shiny eyes. "You are starting to scare me."

I open my mouth to speak but I can't get any words out. I want to tell her that I'm fine, that I'm in control, that I'm just tired, that I'm just too busy, but none of those lies will come forth. I want to tell her that she shouldn't care, that I'm past saving, that she shouldn't waste her time but _those_ words won't come out either. What is wrong with my tongue? I open and close my mouth, unable to get a single sound out and, to my intense horror, I feel my head starting to get light. Just for something to do with my hands, to try and get myself back to this planet, I reach again for my coffee cup but my hands fall uselessly onto the table and refuse to move.

"Anna?" I hear Miss Arendelle's voice but it sounds like she's talking to me from the other end of a long tunnel. "Anna?!" More panicked the second time.

The darkness is so inviting. It's so _strong._ I'm so powerless. It just feels so _good_ and I really want to stay here with Miss Arendelle — with _Elsa_ — but it's so warm there and so tempting and _oh._ I just can't say no to it.

The last thing I remember before tumbling out of my chair in a faint is the huge, terrified eyes of my professor. Then there was just nothing.

* * *

In March, when the acute embarrassment from passing out in front of my incredibly hot anthropology professor has started to wear off, when, at the behest of the emergency room doctor who treated me that day, I've been eating (or at least pretending to eat) three square meals a day, I meet again with Miss Arendelle in her office.

"Come in," she says, smiling at me. But that smile stops at her cheekbones. Her eyes are still sad. As expected, those eyes roam over my body. But I'm not worried — I've taken better care to hide it now. I feel bad for a split second, hiding things from Miss Arendelle who _obviously_ cares about me, but she just doesn't _understand_ that if I let go of this then I have literally nothing tethering me to sanity. Baggy clothes during the day and weights in my underwear during weigh-ins have successfully kept people at bay.

Or at least I that's what I thought.

"Anna," says Miss Arendelle, cutting straight to the point, "I'm worried about you."

"Why?" I blurt, incredulously. "I'm fine!"

She looks at me questioningly, her azure orbs contemplating me for several seconds. "You're still scaring me, honey," she finally admits. She glances down at the laptop that's open on the desk in front of her. "Your grades are still slipping. This isn't like you."

I scoff. "What do you mean it isn't like me? You don't know me."

"I don't know you _well,_ " she corrects. "But you forget I'm employed here, I can access all your past grades and test scores. You are one of the most intelligent students I've _ever_ come across. You've had a four point oh grade point average your entire college career. I even saw your high school transcripts, Anna. You were first in your class. You had _above_ a four point. This is not you. _You_ do not get Cs on homework assignments and I'd be shocked if you'd gotten below a ninety-five on an exam _ever."_

"I got a ninety-three on my second bio exam in freshman year," I tell her, numbly. "I cried all day."

" _That_ sounds like you." Miss Arendelle closes the laptop. "Anna," she sighs. "I'm not a doctor. Well, I _am_ but not that kind of doctor. But I want you to know that I'm not going to judge you. I am a safe person for you to talk to. As a professor, I'm a mandated reporter. I'm sure you know what that means, but basically if I feel you are in danger for any reason — be it from anyone else or yourself — I'm required to report it. But I also want to help you."

I stare at the floor. "I don't know that you can," I eventually murmur. "I think I'm kind of past the point of help."

"No." Her word is sharp and her facial expression is firm. "No one is past help."

I pull my feet up onto the chair and lay my chin on my knees, wrapping my arms around my legs. I'm always cold.

"Can I ask you some questions?" Miss Arendelle hedges. I shrug, not able to find it in me to fight her at this moment. "When did you start using control of food to cope with stress?"

I jerk my head up and stare at her. I figured she was going to ask me something more… I don't know… _basic_. But I should have known better, this is Miss Arendelle I'm dealing with. She doesn't mince words. "Uh," I mumble unintelligently, "I don't know. Maybe a year ago?"

"And when did it start getting out of hand?"

"Last fall," I answer instantly.

"When you started my class." Her face has a shadow of guilt on it.

"No, no!" I quickly exclaim, waving my hands in the air. "Before classes started, actually. If anything, school helps calm me down. And I really did enjoy your class, so it was kind of a bright spot in the middle of, well, all the shit."

She smiles at that and it's genuine, her guilt put to rest for the time being. "Tell me what this 'shit' is."

I almost burst out laughing at the sound of the expletive coming out of her beautiful mouth. It just sounds so _wrong._ "Oh," I say, trying to sound dismissive. "Just family stuff."

Leaning back in her chair, Miss Arendelle nods her head and keeps nodding it a few beats too long. This makes me think 'family stuff' isn't a foreign concept to her. There is no doubt in my mind that there is something unusual about Miss Elsa Arendelle. To have a Ph.D at twenty-six years old all but promises that. "So home doesn't feel very safe to you, is that it?"

"It's complicated," I say, resting my chin on my knees again. "Technically I live alone, but I spend a lot of time at my parents' house. Out of necessity rather than because I want to." I'm trying to decide if I want to tell her any more but before I can make up my mind she gets up out of her chair and comes around the desk. She sits in the other chair that faces her desk. Now we are just over a foot apart.

"Let's continue this conversation as equals," she states. "Not as teacher and student. As friends. This is no longer a meeting about school. For the rest of this conversation you may call me Elsa, all right?"

I'm sure that's against some kind of rule but I'm too far gone to care. "My dad is… well, you see, he's…" My throat chokes up and I feel my eyes burning. _Do_ not _cry in front of Miss Arendelle!_ my mind orders but my body has other ideas. Swallowing the lump in my throat I force my voice to work again. "He's dying."

A sympathetic sound comes from Elsa's throat but she says nothing, letting me gather my thoughts and continue. "He's had cancer since I was seventeen but the treatments have been keeping everything at bay, until about year ago." I can feel my body literally shaking with the effort of holding myself together. "God, I never talk to _anyone_ about this, except—" Cutting that sentence off right there, I manage to keep myself from mentioning Kristoff.

However, Elsa caught that.

"Except…?"

A sigh bursts from my lungs before I can stop it. "My best friend, Kristoff."

"And why is that a bad thing?"

"Because he got mad at me and basically just ditched me when he realized he couldn't fix me." At this confession, I lose the battle against my emotions and it _all_ just comes out. "My mom is too drunk all the time to take care of my dad properly and my older sister wants nothing to do with any of us. Kristoff was going to help me take care of my dad but it all got to be too much for him." I wipe my eyes with the heels of my hands, embarrassed. "Which makes total sense, why the hell would he want to stick around? But my mom…" I shake my head. "She should be there. So should my sister."

"And now you are taking care of your dad all by yourself," Elsa completes, a note of finality in her statement.

"Yeah," I say, feeling drained. "Pretty much. He has hospice nurses that come three times per week, but… yeah, other than them it's just me. That's how I got all that reading done last term for your class, I read it while he slept and I was the only one there."

"That's not fair to you."

I throw my hands in the air. "But what can I do about it, Elsa? Someone has to take care of him. It's not _his_ fault he's dying of cancer. He doesn't deserve to be left alone."

"No, but _you_ don't deserve that kind of pressure, either. It's not your fault your mom and sister aren't helping out. This is not entirely your responsibility."

"I know that," I utter, defeated. "It's just — He'll be gone pretty soon at this rate, so, like, what's a few more months, you know?"

Miss Arendelle — Elsa — grabs my hands out of the air in a most unprofessional manner. "You can't take care of him, Anna, if you're not taking care of _you."_

My hands are cold in hers and I hope to god she doesn't feel them shaking. "You don't understand," I plead. "It's all I have! My schedules and my rules… they're all that keep me sane."

"No, honey, they're what's killing you." She squeezes my shaking fingers. "Trust me. I know."

That shuts me up. I want to ask her what she means when she says that but I can't form the question. All I can do is stare at her as her eyes well up with tears to mirror my own and I have a feeling she's about to elaborate.

"Please, Anna," she all but begs. "Don't make me lose another person I care about to this monster."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:** Sorry for the lack of ANs on the last few chapters. My head is in a million places and I keep managing to space it somehow. Anyway, angst ahoy but oh how we do love our Elsa and Anna... By the way, this fic is already written in its entirety, I'm just posting the chapters one by one. XO

And now, to reply to comments:

 **Strab:** :) :) Love me some Elsanna... oh yes.

 **Pankite:** OMG! I nearly died when I saw your review because I was so starstruck, realizing what fic it is you're working on with another favorite of mine... EEEK and thank you!

* * *

In April, when it becomes clear that my dad has very little time left on this earth, I miss my first anthropology class all year long. In fact, it's only the fifth time I've missed a class in all of college.

It's a Wednesday in the first week of April, the week before finals week, but I just can't leave him. I figure I'll study extra hard and hopefully it'll be enough. After talking to Miss Arendelle that day, I've managed to pull my grade up in her class. Just talking to her about it seems to have helped and I can concentrate better than I've been all term. That and the fact that I'm actually eating, even if just to please her. I can't let her down. I just can't.

"Hey Muffin," Dad murmurs to me from his hospital bed in their living room. He hasn't called me that since I was about ten. "How's it hangin'?"

"Hey Dad," I smile sadly. "It's hangin' good. How're you?"

"Swell," he coughs, sounding like an engine in an ancient car that's in desperate need of a tune up. I half expect nuts and bolts to spew out of his mouth. "You sure are a sight for sore eyes, you know that, kid?"

"Daaaaad," I groan, hiding my face.

He chuckles but it quickly turns into another cough. I offer him a sip of water from a nearby cup, which he accepts. "Want me to fluff your pillows?"

"Nah, I'm good. Comfy," he lies, the pain in his eyes giving him away. "Tell me about school."

"I'm passing all my classes," I tell him, skipping over the fact that I almost _wasn't_ for a while. "Finals are next week. I'm pretty sure they'll all be pretty easy except maybe anthro." Even after all this time, my heart still speeds up at the thought of my anthropology teacher.

My dad nods. "That's your toughest class, right?"

"Yeah, but it's also my favorite. I'm excited for next term. It's the cultural anthro section. Miss Arendelle says it's interesting but very different from physical anthro, so I'm stoked. Can't wait to tell you about it."

"Yeah," he says but his voice falls flat. There's a pain in his eyes that makes me want to burst into tears. He doesn't want to leave me.

"You _will_ be here, Dad," I say, putting words to the elephant in the room. "You will. I'll bring my coursework to show you. I'll show you my grades and tell you all about what we're reading and learning. I'll tell you all about Elsa— Miss Arendelle…"

"Elsa, huh?" My dad smiles wanly at me. "So you finally got on a first name basis with her."

My cheeks are burning. "Not really, just… sometimes. She's really nice, Dad. You'd like her."

"I already do, kid."

"Dad…"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Anna. And I appreciate everything you've done for me."

Those words are music to my ears and salt to my wounds at the same time. Unable to hold it back, I bury my face in his bedcovers and sob until I can't cry anymore. When I finally lift my head, he's asleep.

He doesn't wake up again.

* * *

In May, when we're elbow-deep in the third and final part of the anthro course, I'm finally coming alive again. Throwing myself into schoolwork has always been my _modus operandi._ My dad's funeral was the day before Easter and it's been up and down since then. I didn't eat for three straight days after my dad died but when I came to class barely able to keep my eyes open, Miss Arendelle all but _dragged_ me to her office and _begged_ me to share her peanut butter and jelly sandwich with her.

Yes, really. Miss Arendelle eats PB and J for lunch sometimes.

Since then, in addition to going to therapy twice per week as recommended by my family doctor, I've actually made a habit of hanging out in Miss Arendelle's office for lunch. Usually I eat something I've packed from home but occasionally she and I will go somewhere on campus. Since we're just _hanging out_ it doesn't matter if we're seen together. Teachers and students get together outside of class all the time, so it's not a big deal.

My grades are once again the highest in the class and Miss Arendelle was absolutely correct, I _do_ enjoy cultural anthropology just as much, if not more, than physical.

"I never knew that about the sushi industry," I say through a mouthful of cucumber and hummus. "But it totally makes sense why globalization would have had an effect like that."

"Isn't it interesting how everything is connected?" Miss Arendelle chews her noodles thoughtfully. We're in her office, as usual, me on my usual chair with my tupperware balanced on my knees and her in her office chair, feet propped on her desk. "It's like the butterfly effect, sort of."

"Uh-huh," I concur. "I still think it's gross that salted fish was considered such a groundbreaking delicacy." My nose wrinkles at the thought. I _hate_ fish.

Miss Arendelle laughs and I wish I could record that sound and hear it more often. "Well, I guess I can't say I see it as odd because I grew up eating lutefisk."

"You _did?"_ My eyes bug out. "Holy God. I didn't know you were Norwegian, although with a name like Elsa Arendelle I suppose I should have guessed. Wow, isn't lutefisk gross?"

"Yes," she deadpans and we both crack up. "My Aunt Hilda used to insist we eat it every time we came to her house. I got very good at hiding it under the tablecloth until everyone left the table and I could throw it out."

"Did you live in Norway?"

"No," she spears a piece of chicken on her fork. "I actually grew up in the midwest. I'm a Dakota girl originally."

"Hmm," I muse. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"Yeah, there's a pretty significant Norwegian population throughout the Dakotas, Iowa, Nebraska and the surrounding areas. I came out here for college, though, and haven't been back since."

"Do you miss it?" I ask, and see her eyes glaze over as she thinks about it.

"No," she says after only a moment's hesitation. "I don't. This is home now."

* * *

In June, when finals approach for the last time for students (except for the poor souls who are taking summer courses), it's starting to become real that I won't see Miss Arendelle anymore. She's become such a permanent fixture in my life that I don't know what I'll do without her.

I wish, so much, that she'd feel the same about me.

It's finals week and my last final of this year is hers. ANTH303.

I'm sitting at home, drinking a smoothie made with bananas, blueberries, yogurt and honey when _ding!_ My computer alerts me to an email.

It's from Miss Arendelle:

 _Hi Anna,_ (she writes) _I was really hoping to see you once more after finals are over. You've been a wonderful student to have in classes this year and I have some extra reading materials you might be interested in. If you wouldn't mind coming to my office on Friday afternoon, I'd be happy to give them to you. I'll be there from 4:00pm until 5:00pm, since office hours change during finals week. Hope to see you then. In the meantime, I'll see you in class tomorrow for your exam._

 _Best,_

 _E. Arendelle Ph.D_

I have to chuckle. She's so formal via email. When we're together, now, I sometimes slip and call her Elsa. She pretends not to notice.

After the anthropology final exam effectively kicks my butt, I am free for the summer. On Friday I make my way to her office for what will likely be the last time. My heart is heavy.

"Hi," she says, comfortably, used to seeing me in the doorway to her office by now. "Glad you could stop by."

"Miss Arendelle…" I say, taking a step toward her. "I don't know how to thank you for everything this year."

She dismissively waves a hand. "Nothing to thank me for, Anna. I care about you, you know that."

"Yeah, but you didn't _have_ to—"

"But I _wanted_ to," she interrupts me, leaning back against her desk. Since it's the last day of term, she's wearing jeans that cling to her curves and do wicked things to my mind. She looks not a day over twenty-two with her hair in that French braid and a maroon zip-up hoodie. If it weren't for the setting and the conversation we're having, I'd almost believe we were just two friends hanging out at the end of term. "I meant it when I said I enjoyed having you around."

"What did you mean you didn't want to lose _another_ person to an eating disorder?" I blurt the question before I can stop myself and I wish I could take it back because her face immediately goes pale. I mean, yeah, she's pale to begin with but this is a whole new level. "I'm sorry, Els — _Miss_ Arendelle — but I didn't want to ask you until after classes were out because, well, it didn't seem like something a student should ask a teacher."

A small, bemused smile flits across her face. "Well, I guess then you don't have to call me Miss Arendelle anymore, either."

Several seconds pass and I am just about to wonder if she's even going to answer my question, but then she speaks. "I had a sister. She was two years older than me and I thought she was the greatest." Her gaze hits the floor and her shoulders sag as if the weight of the memory is literally sitting on them. "She was smart, incredibly popular, kind and selfless. A ballet dancer — we both were, actually." I must have a look on my face because Elsa chuckles quietly. "Can you picture it? She was always my idol, growing up."

"What was her name?" The question comes out in a whisper.

"Jora," she answers, pronouncing it like 'yo-rah'. "Although everyone mispronounced it and called her Jor-ah. It's a Scandinavian name. Anyway, she was my best friend. But then, when she was in ninth grade, her ballet teacher told her she needed to lose weight. She changed after that."

Elsa's lower lip quivers and I have to fight so hard not to rush over there and hug her.

"She died two weeks after her eighteenth birthday."

"God, I'm so sorry Elsa," I say, knowing that those words won't help much.

Elsa smiles a watery smile at me. "After she died, I promised Jora that I'd do everything in my power to stop the vicious cycle for someone else, if ever given the opportunity, the way I didn't do for her. I recognized the warning signs with you pretty early on, but I didn't know how to approach you. It wasn't until I actually had a dream with both you and Jora in it that I found the courage to just come out and ask you."

"I'm so glad you did," I admit. "I didn't want to tell anyone because I thought all order in my life would cease if I ever let up on those rituals. Unfortunately, it took my dad's passing and dragging myself to therapy to actually snap me out of it. Taking care of my dad had occupied such a giant part of my life for so long that once it was no longer there, I didn't even _have_ a semblance of reality anymore, so it wasn't such a stretch to kind of start over. Before, all I had was school. And you." _Oh God, I didn't catch that one in time, did I?_ I start to panic and my cheeks flush.

Elsa, however, doesn't seem to react to that little slip-up. She chews on her thumbnail in a nervous gesture the likes of which I've never seen from her.

"You know," she says, sounding as though she's trying to convince herself to keep talking. "My promise to Jora was fulfilled as soon as you accepted that PB and J from me that day. I knew right then that you were going to be okay."

I'm surprised by this. "Really? So why did you want to keep hanging out with me, then?"

She smiles at me, her head cocked to the side. "Silly, I told you before. I _like_ spending time with you. You're incredibly smart, you have a great sense of humor, you're easy to talk to and I don't have to waste time spelling out implications for you because you're already a step ahead of me most of the time. I'm not trying to sound braggy, but it's not often I come across someone who is as smart, if not smarter, than I am."

That's a _huge_ compliment coming from her. I'm actually a little speechless. "I, uh, _thanks_ ," is all I manage to stutter out.

"I'm going to miss you, Anna," she says and there is a definite note of melancholy in her words. "You'll come visit me next year, right? I don't know where my office will be - they apparently move us around every year - but I'm sure you can find it by asking at the anthro department."

"Of course I will." What I'm not saying is that it's going to be an incredibly long summer without her. "I'll come see you often."

"You'd better," she laughs and finally, after all this time, I'm wrapped in her arms and she's hugging me. She smells of vanilla and cinnamon, of winter and home. I never want to let her go.

Before I leave, I remember one more question I wanted to ask her. "Elsa? When's your birthday?"

She looks up at me in surprise. "December twenty-first. Why?"

I shake my head, already giggling. _Five out of seventy-three._ "No reason. Just curious."

Against all odds, her birthday _did_ fall in that three week gap between the first and second term. Maybe, against all odds, something more will come out of this relationship. I guess I'll just have to wait and see.


	5. Chapter 5

**Egnarregnar:** I see your point. The main reason I didn't develop that part of the story more is because I thought it would have cluttered up the chapter too much. I wanted to focus more on how Anna's support system (mainly Elsa and, as you'll see in this chapter, Kristoff) were instrumental in helping her through this extremely devastating event in her life. In reality, overcoming an eating disorder is nowhere near as simple as I portrayed it in this story, but it's essentially a very watered down version of how it _could_ look for someone. The same things oftentimes take place during a person's road to recovery, just on a grander scale. That would have taken a zillion pages to write, and since all the other "months" worth of chapters were on the shorter side, I decided just to simplify it. :) Does that make any sense?

 **On a side not** **e _..._** 7 follows! That's the most I've ever gotten on a story, so that's exciting :)

 **Now for the sad news.** This is the final chapter of Inanis. Please see AN at the bottom for further notes on the story.

 **Warnings:** M rating really comes in handy here for fairly tame smut at the end.

* * *

In July, when the summer sun beats relentlessly on the city, I think of her.

Where is she? What's she doing? Is she doing okay?

I wonder if she's wondering about me. I wonder if she's wondering where I am, what I'm doing and if _I'm_ okay.

 _You know what, Elsa?_ I think to myself. _I am okay. I really am._

I finally found the guts to call Kristoff. He came over after much coaxing and we hashed it out, cried, yelled, apologized, watched old horror movies just like we used to, cried some more, hugged and finally let it be water under the bridge. We spend the rest of the month catching up, going for coffee and sushi dates (although I _hate_ fish so I'll only eat cucumber rolls _without_ the seaweed, which Kristoff thinks is blasphemous) and I tell him all about Elsa.

"Ooh!" He crows. "Anna's hot for teacher!"

"Shut up," I groan, smacking his shoulder with a chopstick, causing soy sauce to fly into his hair.

"Hey, it's cool," he flaps his hand at me. "You're not her student anymore, right?"

I sigh. It's not like I'd ever have a chance.

* * *

In August, when it's once again time for me to choose my classes for the year, my final year, I wish I could take a class from her again. I do see her name on the course listing but only for the same three sections of anthro that I took from her last year. However, I'm just relieved she's still a professor at the university. I had this irrational fear all summer that she'd move jobs and not tell me and then I'd be looking forward to seeing her and she'd just be gone.

I've never done well with disappointment.

* * *

In September, when once again the campus bursts alive with student activity, I ask a bespectacled young man in the anthropology department where Miss Arendelle's office is located this year. He tells me it's fourth floor, office 409 and that her office hours are a bit late this term, from three-thirty to five in the evening every weekday except Wednesday when she doesn't have office hours.

I'm not able to make it until that Friday. Classes and therapy appointments kept me busy and I actually joined a softball league with Kristoff in the summer and we still have games on Tuesday and Thursday nights until the first week of October.

Nervously, I knock on the door to office 409 at twenty minutes to five on Friday evening.

I hear her voice. "Come in," she calls and my heart thuds in anticipation.

She's every bit as lovely as I remembered. Those mesmerizing eyes of hers roam over me from my feet all the way up and widen considerably when she realizes it's me. In a flash, she's out of her chair and hugging me. "Anna!" She all but shouts. "Oh my God, I'm so happy to see you! How are you?"

I laugh, hugging her back. I can't believe she's _this close_ to me. "I'm _good,_ Elsa. How are you?"

Pulling back, she holds me at arms length. "I'm good," she says. "Better now. I was hoping you'd come."

 _I wish you meant that the way my brain just took it,_ I think, mentally smacking myself for going there so quickly.

She searches my face and I know I'm flushed. Her eyes graze downward, over my noticeably different body. Last year, when she met me, I was thin and weak. Now I have muscle from weeks of softball with Kristoff and walking his crazy Boxer dog, Sven, twice a day for something to do. My skin is tanned and I have probably a few hundred more freckles than I had last year. And you know what? I'm okay with _all_ of that. It took me a while to get here but here I am.

"Anna, you—" She takes a deep breath and lets it out slow. "You look _amazing._ "

Sheepishly, I grin. "I actually feel amazing," I admit. "I owe a lot of that to you but also a lot to Kristoff."

"And a lot to yourself," Elsa corrects, brushing some loose hairs out of my face in a gesture that's more intimate than I'm prepared to fathom at this time. "I could never tell you back then, because you were my student, how I was so - I don't know - _intrigued_ by you, even when you were having trouble with… everything. But then, toward the end, it was more than intrigue."

My throat is so dry it takes me a few tries to get my voice working. "W-what was it, then?"

Her answer is pure and unabashed. "Attraction. I just couldn't say anything. I was afraid I'd scare you off. But then I was even more afraid that you would forget about me and I regretted not telling you last year. I was afraid I'd lost my chance."

After a few seconds of silent processing, I finally come to my senses. Grabbing her by the collar of her black, flowy blouse, I crash my lips against hers. Finally. _Finally._ It's been _so long_ that I've been dreaming of this. I reach my leg back and kick the door shut behind me. Elsa's long, delicate fingers tangle into my hair as she pulls herself closer to me, our bodies pressed entirely together from top to toe.

"Anna," she mewls against my mouth, sounding far breathier than I imagined she would in this scenario.

Breaking free from our lip lock, I press my lips against the side of her neck. There's that smell again; vanilla and cinnamon swirling together and driving me wild. "I've waited so long for this," I pant against her skin. "So long, Elsa. You have no idea."

"I do have an idea," she says with an airy laugh. "Probably about as long as _I've_ been waiting for this."

"So about a year now?" I scrape my teeth over the junction of her neck and shoulder and she jerks against me.

"More or less."

* * *

In October, when our make-out sessions in her office (or in empty classrooms, or in the park blocks, or in hallways when nobody is around) have become commonplace, she finally asks me on a real date: to a black light mini golf place that just opened up a few blocks off campus. It's pirate themed, she tells me. I accept immediately.

We go on the Friday before Halloween which turns out to be a very good plan because anyone in costume gets half off their game of mini golf. Elsa, to my intense amusement, is dressed as a professor. She has a pair of glasses perched on the end of her nose, a white collared shirt with pens in the pocket and a loosened tie hangs around her neck. She's wearing black booty shorts and black stockings beneath them and her patent leather heels. She carries a briefcase in place of a purse.

"Elsa!" I say, laughing, as she approaches me outside the mini golf place where I'm waiting for her. "What the hell!"

She can't help but giggle. "I had to! I couldn't come up with a better idea. Whoa, Anna, you look… _different!"_ Her eyes bug out as she takes in my costume.

I've braided wires into my usual hairstyle, causing my braids to stand out from my head. I'm wearing a _very_ short dress with patches sewn onto it and thigh-high red and yellow striped stockings. I'm wearing a pair of scuffed black boots and I'm carrying a stuffed monkey on my shoulder, pinned to my dress with safety pins.

"You're Pippi Longstocking," Elsa laughs. "Wow, you've even got Mr. Neilsen!"

"Pippi was always my favorite as a kid and I couldn't very well bring a _horse_ with me," I shrug, and we enter the establishment.

Elsa succinctly beats my ass at mini golf three games in a row. I can't even be bothered because for every time she gets a hole in one, I'm allowed to pull her behind something and kiss her senseless. I take full advantage of that and, fortunately for me, Elsa is _very_ good at mini golf.

We finish out the night at a twenty-four hour coffee shop on campus, trading stories of Halloweens from our childhoods.

"I was a dog every Halloween from age four to seven," Elsa tells me, clinking her fingernails against her ceramic mug. "My mom made this costume for me out of a white hoodie. She sewed these big, floppy ears onto the hood and hot glued black spots all over the rest of it. I wore black pants and that hoodie and she painted a nose and whiskers onto my face." Her eyes glaze over with the memory. "God, I loved it. It was always freezing cold by Halloween in South Dakota, so I was glad for the sweatshirt."

The image of little Elsa, standing ever so still as her mother lovingly applied face paint makes my heart clench. I bet she was adorable. I also wish _my_ mother had done things like that for Abby and me when we were little.

"What about you? Any favorite costumes from your childhood?"

I think for a moment. "I was a fairy princess when I was in first grade." My eyes roll up and to my right as I try to visualize the costume. "My sister, Abby, had this nightgown that someone got her once. It was pink and frilly and she never wore it because she said it itched. Anyway, I stole it from her room and used my dress-up fairy wings and I made this crown out of pipecleaners." I start laughing. "I'm sure it was hideous but I loved it."

"Were you and your sister close?" Elsa's voice is strained and I know she's thinking about Jora.

"We used to be," I respond. I swirl the contents of my mug around. "She's older than me by three years. We were close when we were in elementary school but then when she got to middle school I was only in fourth grade and she thought I was babyish."

We are quiet for a few moments and I just _know_ where Elsa's mind is. I know she wants to talk about her.

"Tell me about Jora," I say, softly. "Tell me all about her. Not about her eating disorder, because you've already told me about that. But tell me about _her._ Who she was. What she looked like. What she did for fun."

Elsa turns watery blue eyes to me and catches her pouty bottom lip between her teeth as if considering my request. Suddenly, her mouth opens and she just starts _talking._ "She was so pretty, Anna. She was always taller than me, although I think I've caught up to where she was by now. Her hair wasn't blonde like mine, it was actually a little reddish. It was wavier than mine is, but she straightened it a lot. She had these huge blue eyes—" _Like yours,_ I think. "—and she had dimples in her cheeks when she smiled, which she did a lot of before… well, before she got sick." Elsa's voice cuts off abruptly as she struggles to get back on track.

"Tell me more."

"Her favorite color was turquoise. Her favorite food, before the eating disorder, was spaghetti and meatballs. She always slurped the noodles and our mom would be like, ' _Jo_ - _ra!',"_ Elsa smiles and huffs a laugh at the memory of her mother reprimanding her older sister. "We used to do this disgusting thing, but we thought it was so funny. We'd take a long noodle, hang onto one end of it, swallow the _other_ end and then pull it back out. It feels so weird and we'd always gag. Mom and dad would _freak out_ but we would just crack up."

I actually laugh out loud, unable to picture Elsa _ever_ doing anything like that.

"Jora was very smart, always got good grades. She had tons of friends. She was homecoming queen her junior year of high school, even though she could not stand the guy who was homecoming king."

"She sounds like a great person."

"She was. The best." A single tear trails down Elsa's cheek. "I miss her every day."

"I'm sure she was proud of you, Elsa." Eyeing Elsa carefully, I slide my mug to the side and take her hands in mine. "I believe she still is."

* * *

In November, when the snow begins to fall and students scurry home from campus for the long Thanksgiving weekend, I find myself with nowhere to go. It's almost five in the evening on a Tuesday and I knock on the door to Elsa's office. The halls are empty, all the other office doors in the vicinity are closed tightly, no light coming from under them. Except Elsa's.

"You're a workaholic, you know that?" I joke as I push the door open.

She smiles without looking up, knowing exactly who it is. "Guilty as charged." She finishes scribbling something on some poor student's homework; I can tell she's not happy by the sharpness of her handwriting.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah, I just hate giving bad grades. Why can't everyone be as dedicated a student as you are?" She looks up at me and I don't believe for a second that this is all that's bothering her.

"Are you missing your family this holiday?" I figure, why not take the plunge and just ask her? I'm sure that's what it is.

A breath catches in her throat and she can't hold my eyes. "Y-yeah," she sighs. "My parents invited me back to South Dakota for Thanksgiving or Christmas, or both if I wanted, but I turned them down. I can't go back there. It just hurts too much."

I can understand that. My mom, in a moment of sobriety, had the audacity to call me and ask me if I'd come over for Thanksgiving dinner. I, of course, told her to go fuck herself. Probably not my finest moment but I can't find it in me to care.

"What about you?" Elsa inquires.

I shrug. "Oh, probably just sit around and watch movies."

"You're not going to—" She cuts herself off and chews on her lip. "I'm sorry, Anna. I wasn't thinking."

I perch on the edge of her desk. "It's fine, don't worry about it." I pick up her stapler and start making it clack together like jaws. "I think Abby's going to actually be home for Thanksgiving this year so she can deal with… all of that. I'm off the hook. I've done my time, as far as I'm concerned."

"You've certainly handled more than your fair share," Elsa concurs. She props one elbow on the desk and leans her head in her hand, regarding me with gentle eyes.

I want to ask her. I want to ask her so bad, but is it wrong? Should I not? Should I—

"Anna, would you like to spend the holiday with me, instead?"

 _There's_ the Elsa I know and love. Straight to the point and never minces words. She shoots from the hip and it's one of my favorite qualities about her. You never have to wonder where you stand with her or what she's thinking. If it's not obvious from her body language or facial expressions, she'll come right out and say it.

"I would love to."

* * *

It only takes an hour of being in Elsa's house for us to give into the sexual energy that's been building since I first kissed her in her office that night. I was about to boil water for our Thanksgiving Spaghetti and Meatballs (in Jora's honor) and Kettlecorn For Dessert (in my dad's honor) when suddenly I found myself pressed against the kitchen counter and Elsa's lips on mine. From that moment on, everything else fell away and it was just Elsa.

Elsa's hand in my hair. Elsa's lips on my neck, my collarbone, my sternum. Elsa's fingers deftly pulling the straps of my tank top down, finding a sensitive nipple and pinching carefully. Elsa's hips under my hands. Elsa's voice in my ear as I slide my hand down the front of her pants.

We don't even make it to the bedroom. In fact, we never even make it out of the kitchen. Before I know it, I'm leaning up against the kitchen table and crying out in bliss as her fingers play my body like an instrument she's been practicing for years. Her breaths in my ear, _oh Anna, oh baby,_ as I fall apart around her hand.

Then it's her turn and she's soon flat on her back on the table with my lips and tongue teasing her most sensitive area, her hand tangled in my hair and her hips rocking hard against me. She dissolves with a shudder, a shriek and several expletives. She tastes sweet and tart and I can't get enough.

After we finally get around to making dinner, we sit on the couch together - both of us only half dressed - our hands wandering over each other with no particular destination, just enjoying making each other feel good.

"I didn't know how much I needed you," Elsa says as her fingers dance over my ribs and up towards my chest. "I never knew, when you walked into class that first day, that you would be my saving grace."

I think she has it backwards but I won't tell her that. I guess we could both be right.

* * *

 **AN part 2:** Thank you for coming along on this ride with me. In case you were wondering, I hid myself in this story. Change the name and (obviously) the outcome and I'm Elsa's big sister Jora. Recovery from an eating disorder is a LONG road and looks different for everyone. I thought, for the longest time, that it was impossible for me but I have since proven myself wrong. It's a long, oftentimes lonely journey. To all my ED soldiers: don't give up. The darkest hour is just before dawn. XOXO


	6. Epilogue

**AN:** I wrote an epilogue! 'Cause I just love you guys so darn much I couldn't stay away!

Some review responses:

 **Guest:** So glad you like(d) it! Hope you also enjoy the epilogue and thanks for reading!

 **Egnarregnar:** Hey, thanks! That really does mean a lot. It's a really tough subject for me not because it's tough to think about or write about, but because it's hard to do justice to. Such a complicated thing and I always wonder if I'm even getting it across. So thanks for your kind words. :) And thanks for your reviews!

 **Amateraszu:** Hope is the most important thing. Without it, we don't stand a chance. XO.

 **Okay, so now on with the epilogue!** This is a P.O.V change but the style is still the same.

To my ED soldiers:I'm really no expert, I can only tell you what recovery looks like for ME. But in my experience, it's fluid and ever-changing. A slip up is NOT a relapse. Even a series of slip-ups and regressions is not, in my opinion, a relapse. It can be a slow descent and hard to spot. Reach out if you need help. It's always better to ask and end up not needing help than to need it and never ask. No regrets.

* * *

Epilogue

(Elsa's POV)

In September, when classes have started up again and I'm starting to settle into my third year teaching at the university, I notice a slight shift. It's a Saturday night and Anna and I have just gotten home from the movies. I largely don't remember what we saw, because we were so busy trying to sneak our hands and lips onto one another in the theater without getting caught.

Arriving home to our newly shared apartment in a high-rise near the campus, Anna presses me against the inside of the door. Her lips, her hands, her hair, her scent, all of it wraps me up tighter than the snuggest blanket. We make it to the bedroom but when I'm trying to undress her, she stops me, which is unusual for her.

In the end, when we're both disheveled and sated, having cried out each other's names to the ceiling in turn, I am completely bare to her, but she still has her T-shirt on.

* * *

In October, when the first chill of autumn bursts everyone's hopes for an Indian summer, I notice another shift. It's again a Saturday, and it's almost ten-thirty in the morning. I've been up for two hours, made coffee, eaten my breakfast and have planned almost two weeks worth of class discussions and curriculum and there's still no sign of Anna. She used to be up _earlier_ than me regularly, already curled up on the couch with her books and laptop by the time I finally dragged myself out of bed on the weekends.

I tiptoe into our bedroom. She lies flat on her back in bed, her crazy red hair all mussed and tousled, one arm bent up above her head and the other resting on her abdomen. Her long-sleeve university tee is bunched up just above her navel. I can't help but notice the slightly more prominent point of hipbone.

 _Maybe it's just the way she's laying,_ I tell myself, hoping. _I'll keep an eye on her._

Anna is nothing if not determined. A double major in anthropology (for fun, she says) and business (for career purposes, she always states) is keeping her plenty busy this year. So far, she still has a perfect grade point average. I just really hope this isn't coming at major price, and I don't just mean the high ticket of tuition.

* * *

In November, when Thanksgiving rolls around, I start to worry for real.

"Kristoff's family invited us for Thanksgiving," Anna tells me one day, but her facial expression belies her excitement. We went to Kristoff's last year and Anna was so excited, bouncing around and helping with cooking and organizing. She'd even made these adorable little place cards for everyone, since Kristoff's family is massive.

"Do you want to go?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I dunno. I'd kind of rather just do our own thing."

I pull her close and kiss her forehead. "Whatever you want to do is fine with me."

"I _do_ want to go to Kristoff's," she says. "It's just… there's so many people and… and…"

"And what?"

"I'd rather do the cooking myself."

 _Red flag._ I look hard into my girlfriend's eyes and see anxiety and uncertainty reflected back to me. "Are you worried about the food at Kristoff's?" I ask point-blank and she squirms.

"No," she responds, a little too quickly. "I j-just don't really know his family that well and I'm so busy with school that it'd just be easier if I didn't have to take the _whole day_ , you know, to go there and…"

I don't want to push her. Maybe she really _is_ just anxious about school. She doesn't usually struggle too much with anxiety but a double major really is a lot of work. "Okay," I assure her, "it's fine. We can just do something here."

The relief on her face makes my heart ache. I _really_ want to believe that everything is fine but the fact that her jawbone is just a _little_ more prominent than it was recently keeps me from being able to commit to that idea.

* * *

In December, when the bitter winter wind starts to blow in earnest and the snow falls silently, I can't fool myself into thinking that everything is fine any longer.

After several stressful weeks following Thanksgiving leading right up to finals in the beginning of the third week in December, Anna and I finally find ourselves with a day off for the first time in forever. It's a Saturday, _again,_ and we've both slept in until almost noon.

I wake up first and stretch, feeling my muscles protest and my joints pop satisfactorily. I roll over and look at Anna, asleep beside me. She's on her side, facing me, with her hands pressed together under her cheek, looking every bit like the angel she is. I scoot forward and place a kiss on her cheek, draping my arm lazily over her waist.

 _Oh my God._ My forearm, where it rests against her body, encounters the sharpness of bone where there was recently muscle. Carefully, I peel the blanket down from her chest level. She stirs but does not wake. Taking care not to touch my trembling hands to her skin, I pinch the hem of her tee shirt in my fingers and lift. Inch by inch, her skin is revealed.

"Oh shit," I whisper, and her eyelids flutter but, thankfully, remain closed.

 _How did I not notice this?_ I think, my blood turning to ice in my veins. _How could I let her down so badly?_ _How long has she been suffering this much?_ I can see every rib. Her soft, freckled skin stretches over the stark shape of bone rising and falling with her breath. Glancing down I see the shocking jut of hipbone holding the waistband of her pajama pants away from her body. Her entire abdomen is almost completely concave.

"Elsa?" Her shaky voice causes me to snap my eyes back up where they meet hers. She's looking at me with tears in her eyes.

"Anna, I-I," I stutter but she shakes her head minutely and presses a finger over my lips.

"Please," she whispers. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm sorry, I should have seen it sooner." My heart feels like it's ripping down the middle.

Anna looks torn, like she's trying to decide whether to balk and tell me she's fine or just accept the fact that I've caught on. I'm flat-out embarrassed that it's taken me this long to realize she's struggling so much. Ultimately, she says, "it's not your responsibility. I should have reached out when I first realized I was having trouble." She scoots over and rests her head on my shoulder, her lips pressing against my neck, one arm around my waist and a leg intertwined with mine. "I just didn't want to worry you."

I pull her closer. "Well, I'm worried _now!"_

She takes a shaky sigh. "I know. I was hoping I'd be able to handle it, to snap myself out of it. But then Thanksgiving came and I just couldn't deal with it, and then finals, and everything was so busy and stressful and I just didn't know how to cope—"

"Shh-sh," I whisper, stroking my fingers through her hair. "You told me now. That's what's important. I should have seen it earlier but at least I know now, and we can figure out how to help you."

Quietly — "What if I can't be helped?"

"I'll never give up on you. Ever."


End file.
